


Distracting

by machtaholic (cinderella81)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Frottage, Hair Kink, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderella81/pseuds/machtaholic
Summary: Margo is a matchmaker.  Quentin is distracting.  Eliot and Quentin are both oblivious.Based onmy own tumblr post





	Distracting

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine Season 1 Quentin with Season 3 hair <3333
> 
> Also, my submission for thewelterschallenge week 4: ships/Love

Eliot didn't even realize he'd been staring until Margo smacked him on the shoulder.

“What?”

“You were staring,” Margo commented.

“Was not.” Eliot turned his attention back to the dreadfully boring book he was supposed to be reading.

“Bordering on drooling, really,” Margo added.

Eliot just barely resisted the urge to wipe his mouth just to check and see if Margo was lying. 

“It’s kind of cute,” Margo said.

Eliot flipped Margo off and tried to read his book, then realized he’d been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and didn’t remember a damn thing. He glanced across the living room of the Cottage to where Quentin sat on the window seat, fingers trailing down the pages of the book he was reading, hair falling in his face.

Eliot bit his lip and watched Quentin push his hair out of his face and tuck an errant lock behind his ear.

“You’re doing it again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eliot said.

“Bullshit.”

Eliot sighed and slammed the book shut - he’d have to start back from the beginning of the chapter anyway - and leaned back in his chair.

“I need a drink,” Eliot said.

“You need more than that,” Margo said, glancing over to where Quentin still sat. “He’s cute, in an awkward ‘needs better clothes and a day spa trip’ kind of way.”

Eliot went to pour himself a glass of wine and ignored Margo’s comment. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Quentin tuck a lock of hair behind his ear yet again; Eliot nearly dropped the bottle, so entranced by Quentin’s movements.

“Like I said,” Margo said, suddenly appearing at Eliot’s side. “You need more than a drink.”

“A drink will do just fine,” Eliot said, taking a few deep swallows from his glass and refilling it with more wine.

“Seriously,” Margo said, “he’s cute and you are so lonely that it hurts me.”

“I’m not lonely, I have you,” Eliot said.

“You need more,” Margo said. “And he needs more, too.”

“So what, bang each other to cure our mutual loneliness?” Eliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he wandered back across the room and dropped down into the chair.

“Have you ever thought that what you might need is a relationship?” Margo said. “And not just a deep and abiding friendship with a platonic soulmate. You need someone else to confide in, to tell your secrets to, to screw silly until you’ve both become sex-stupid.”

“And you think Quentin is that person?”

“I do,” Margo said.

“Needs better clothes and a day spa trip?”

Margo gave an elegant shrug. “All superficial shit,” she said. “The important stuff is on the inside.”

Eliot just rolled his eyes and drank his wine, every once and a while glancing in Quentin’s direction, watching Quentin’s fingers on the pages of the book, watching him constantly touching his hair.

It was fucking distracting.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” Eliot downed the rest of his wine and stood, heading for the front door of the Cottage.

“Where are you going?” Margo asked.

“To get more fucking wine,” Eliot called. “I’ll be back.”

Eliot took his time meandering to the main house of Brakebills. Margo was right, of course. The more time he spent around Quentin, the more he found himself entranced by Quentin. By the way his mask of optimism belied brutal honesty and biting sarcasm. By his loyalty to his friends. By his damn fingers tracing down the pages of the books. By the way he tucked his hair behind his ear.

Eliot stared at Quentin all the time. He felt like a fucking middle school student trying not get caught staring at his crush.

Except sometimes he got caught.

Sometimes he found Quentin staring right back at him.

And that terrified him more than Margo knowing exactly what was going on.

Eliot detoured from the main house and reclined on the large stone Brakebills sign, the spot where he’d first seen Quentin. He laid on his back and stared at the sky and pretended he wasn’t picturing Quentin and his varied distractions.

Eliot didn’t know how long he laid there, but when he finally came back to himself the sun had set and stars were starting to appear in the sky. Eliot groaned, rolled off the sign and made his way back to the Cottage.

“You were gone a while,” Margo said.

Eliot just barely managed not to jump as he stepped into the Cottage and turned to look at her.

“Found someplace better to be,” Eliot replied.

“Liar. You missed dinner - I put a plate in your room for you.”

“Aww Bambi, you do care!”

“Asshole,” Margo said, giving Eliot a playful shove up the stairs.

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way,” Eliot said, glancing over his shoulder to see Margo following him up the stairs. “You don’t have to follow me.”

Eliot reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall to his room, Margo still behind him.

“Margo, really, no need to follow me,” Eliot said. “My buzz is gone so I’m going to dip into that bottle of wine I have next to my bed, eat the dinner you so thoughtfully provided me and go to bed. No following necessary.”

“No, it’s totally necessary,” Margo said as they reached Eliot’s room.

Eliot went to open the door but before he even knew what was happening he found the door opened by Margo. A quick shove and Eliot found himself in his room, the door slamming and locking behind him.

Locking from the outside.

“Margo!”

“She won’t answer.”

Eliot spun around - he knew that voice. He leaned back against the door when he saw Quentin sitting on his bed. Quentin, damp hair falling in his face wearing only a pair of flannel sleep pants.

“Quentin.” Eliot swallowed and licked his lips. “What - what are you doing in here?”

“I have no idea,” Quentin said. “Margo plied me with wine than told me I stunk, shoved me in your shower and then left me here with two plates of food. Locked in your room.”

Eliot glanced over at his desk and saw two plates of food, clearly kept warm and fresh with a couple of spells. He then glanced back over at Quentin, smiling a bit as he watched Quentin trail fingers across Eliot’s duvet.

“Any idea why she locked you in my room?” Eliot said, kicking his shoes off and padding over to the desk to get the food. Plates in hand, he headed over to his bed and sat on the edge, passing one to Quentin.

“She muttered something about obtuse and oblivious assholes, then locked me in,” Quentin said, taking the plate from Eliot. “The food appeared shortly after.”

“I didn’t eat lunch, so I’m famished,” Eliot said.

“Where’d you go off to anway?” Quentin asked.

Eliot shrugged as he ate. “Just needed to get some fresh air,” he said.

“I understand that,” Quentin said, pushing his hair out of his face as he dug into dinner.

Eliot paused, fork halfway to his mouth, as he watched Quentin tuck damp hair behind his ear.

“You’re not going to sleep with your hair wet, are you?” Eliot asked.

Quentin shrugged. “If I’m allowed to leave and my hair is still damp, then I guess so,” he said.

“Q! That’s sacrilege,” Eliot said, setting aside his mostly empty plate. “One does not sleep on wet hair, most especially you.”

“Not with a thousand bottles of conditioner could you do this,” Quentin replied, then grinned. “It’s what I normally do.”

“That explains so much,” Eliot said grabbing the plate off Quentin’s lap, smiling softly. 

“Hey, I wasn’t done!”

“You can finish it later,” Eliot said. “We’re going to have a lesson in hair care.”

“Sounds like fun,” Quentin said with an eye roll.

“Hush Q, you’ll thank me.” Eliot hopped off the bed, set Quentin’s plate on the desk and went to his bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a wide-tooth comb and a brush. He motioned for Quentin to scoot forward and climbed onto the bed behind him.

“You know, I kind of grew it out because of convenience,” Quentin admitted. “Throw it back in a ponytail or a bun or something, get it out of my face.”

“All well and good as long as you take care of your hair and don’t get split ends.” Eliot picked up the comb first, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before carding his fingers through Quentin’s hair. “When your hair is damp, start from the bottom and carefully comb out the knots.”

“That seems anti-intuitive,” Quentin replied.

“I know, Q,” Eliot said. “But trust me, start at the bottom.” Eliot worked meticulously, carefully removing the knots from Quentin’s damp hair. Once all the knots were out, he took a chance and ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair again.

“Knot free?”

“Knot free,” Eliot said. “Once the knots are out, then you can use the brush.” He picked up the brush and reached around to pass it to Quentin.

“Um … you did such a good job with the comb … “

Eliot could almost hear the blush in Quentin’s voice and it was endearing.

“As you wish,” Eliot said and began to brush Quentin’s hair with long, gentle strokes from the brush.

“‘s nice,” Quentin murmured.

Eliot spent far more time than was necessary brushing Quentin’s hair - if he could only do it once, he decided he would take advantage of it. But, after a while, he felt Quentin lean back and rest his back against Eliot’s chest. Eliot bit his lip, set the brush down, and hesitantly ran a hand down Quentin’s arm, resting his hand on Quentin’s.

“Q,” Eliot whispered.

“El,” Quentin whispered back.

“I …” Eliot honestly felt like he was at a loss for words. He had the object of his affection there, in his room, in his fucking lap. And he couldn’t think of a thing to say. And then Quentin suddenly turned around, straddled Eliot’s legs and took one of Eliot’s hands in his.

“When I first got here,” Quentin said, “I was terrified. Terrified that I would wake up one day back in the … in the mental institution and that this had all been some vivid hallucination.”

Eliot swallowed and nodded, giving Quentin’s hand a reassuring squeeze; the spell the hedge witches had cast on Quentin had really done a number on him.

“I was scared, too,” Eliot admitted. “Not that it was all a hallucination. I was scared that I would flunk out, be sent home. Back to Indiana, to my homophobic father.”

“Indiana?”

“Oh Q, it’s so much worse than that,” Eliot said. “I grew up on a farm in Indiana.”

Quentin started laughing, long and loud and Eliot felt his heart melting.

“I just can’t picture it,” Quentin said between laughs. “You were meant for more than that …”

“So were you,” Eliot whispered, reaching out with his free hand and tucking a lock of hair behind Quentin’s ear. “I want -” He cut himself off, leaned in and pressed his lips to Quentin’s in a sweet kiss. He felt Quentin squeeze his hand and cupped the back of Quentin’s head as he deepened the kiss. A few moments later, Quentin broke the kiss and pulled back.

“Either you’re wearing too much or I’m not wearing enough,” Quentin said softly.

“I’m inclined to level the playing field,” Eliot said, releasing Quentin’s hand as he began to remove his vest, tie and shirt.

“So magnanimous of you,” Quentin replied.

“I try,” Eliot said, gasping softly when he felt Quentin’s hands on his chest, exploring hesitantly. He reached out and carded his fingers through Quentin’s hair, watching Quentin’s eyes flutter closed. He gave Quentin’s hair an experimental tug and grinned when he heard Quentin moan.

“I’ve s-seen you,” Quentin gasped. “Watching me.”

Eliot bit his lip as Quentin’s fingers found one of his nipples and tweaked it a bit. He wrapped a hand in Quentin’s hair and pulled him in for another kiss, this one a bit rougher. He gave Quentin’s bottom lip a tug with his teeth as he broke the kiss, smiling a bit at the dazed look on Quentin’s face.

“Caught you watching me too, Q,” Eliot murmured. He released his hold on Quentin’s hair and settled his hands on Quentin’s hips, tugging him closer. Soon they were chest to chest, and Eliot felt Quentin’s hands move to his back, nails scratching a bit.

“Felt like middle school all over again,” Quentin whispered. “Watching your crush and hoping you don’t get caught -”

“But you always get caught,” Eliot whispered back, arching a bit against Quentin.

“Always get caught,” Quentin said, grinding his groin against Eliot’s as he dug his nails into Eliot’s back.

Eliot hissed and arched again, wrapping a hand in Quentin’s hair again, giving it a rough tug as they arched and grinded against each other. The room was quiet save for their gasps and groans, and soon enough the friction combined with the pent up sexual tension had both men coming.

Eliot released his grip on Quentin’s hair, smoothing it back gently as Quentin dropped his head on Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot pressed a kiss to Quentin’s hair, wrapping his arms around Quentin and holding him close.

“I want …” Eliot sighed and rested his cheek on the top of Quentin’s head.

“More?” Quentin replied.

“I don’t want this to be a one-off,” Eliot admitted.

“Oh it won’t be, you’re pretty much stuck with me now,” Quentin said.

Eliot felt his heart clench at Quentin’s words, then blinked back tears as he felt Quentin press a kiss to Eliot’s shoulder.

“Good to know,” Eliot said.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither feeling the need the need to fill the silence with chatter. Eventually Quentin broke the silence.

“Um … I’m a little sticky.”

Eliot laughed and gave Quentin a playful shove. “As am I,” he said. “Best remedy that.” He and Quentin both climbed off the bed and Eliot headed over to the dresser, pulling out two clean pairs of sleep pants.

“Feel free to use the bathroom first, if you need to,” Eliot offered, handing a pair of pants to Quentin.

“Um …” Quentin hesitated for a moment, then tugged his sleep pants off, wiped himself off a bit and tossed the pants in the corner. He stood nude in the middle of the room for a moment before tugging the clean pants on.

Eliot smiled at the slight blush that seemed to stain Quentin’s entire body as he’d stood there nude in Eliot’s room.

“Margo stole your clothes, huh?” Eliot stripped down as well, wiping himself off before tossing his clothes in the pile Quentin started. He stood there for a minute or so, letting Quentin look, then put on his sleep pants and headed back for the bed.

“Yeah,” Quentin said, following Eliot back to the bed. “Am I going to get them back?”

“With Margo it’s hard to tell,” Eliot said as he climbed back onto the bed. He took a moment to cast a small spell, sending their dirty dinner plates down to the kitchen, then motioned for Quentin to join him on the bed.

“Damn,” Quentin said, following Eliot onto the bed.

Eliot watched fondly as Quentin’s hair fell is his face as he climbed onto the bed and started to get ready to lay down.

“Nuh-uh,” Eliot said, tugging Quentin back up. “Oh Q, I have so much to teach you about proper hair care. You really should sleep with your hair back, otherwise you’ll get more knots in it.”

“What, like in a ponytail?” Quentin asked.

“Something like that,” Eliot said, motioning for Quentin to sit in front of him. He reached for the brush again and began to gently brush Quentin’s hair. “Did no one ever brush your hair?”

“My mom, when I was little,” Quentin said. “But my hair wasn’t this long when I was little.”

Eliot hummed as he finished brushing Quentin’s hair. He set the brush aside and conjured a small hairholder that he wrapped around his wrist before carding his fingers through Quentin’s hair.

“I could do this all day,” Eliot admitted. 

“What, make each other sex-stupid or touch my hair?” Quentin asked, his voice hushed and sleepy.

“Oh trust me, this isn’t sex-stupid,” Eliot said. “I’ll show you sex-stupid.”

“Not tonight,” Quentin said.

“No, not tonight Q,” Eliot said as he began to work on securing Quentin’s hair back for the night. His fingers worked almost of their own volition, meticulously braiding Quentin’s hair back into a French braid. 

“We’re going to though, right?” Quentin asked. “Make each other sex-stupid?”

“Hell yes,” Eliot said as he secured the end of the braid with the hair tie. “I’m going to woo the pants off you.”

“I look forward to being wooed,” Quentin said.

Eliot smiled and pressed a kiss to Quentin’s shoulder as he dropped the end of the braid against Quentin’s back.

“All done and ready to sleep,” Eliot said. He sat back and watched as Quentin reached up to feel his hair, chuckling softly when both of Quentin’s hands explored the braid.

“El!”

“What? It’ll keep your hair back and I won’t wake up tomorrow morning eating your hair,” Eliot replied. “And I promise to help you take it out tomorrow morning. No one but me will know.”

“Fine,” Quentin said, throwing himself against Eliot and knocking them down onto the bed. “I’m holding you to that.”

“As I expected.” Eliot wrapped his arms around Quentin and held him close, marvelling at how well the two of them seemed to fit together. Like puzzle pieces. Quentin’s head rested on Eliot’s chest and Eliot ran a hand down Quentin’s back, resting it almost possessively on Quentin’s hip.

As Eliot and Quentin started to drift off to sleep, they both heard a very loud click as someone unlocked Eliot’s bedroom door.

“Door’s unlocked,” Eliot mumbled.

“Mmmhmm.” Quentin hummed and burrowed into Eliot’s embrace. “Not kicking me out of here, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Q,” Eliot said. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
